To Save a Friend
by Alma Heart
Summary: After the events of DOC, it seems everything is finally resolved. There is peace. The living are content. But what happens when Sephiroth's soul is found trapped in the Lifestream? Is there a way to save him, and will Cloud try to save him at all?
1. Search and Memory

"AERITH!" Zack's cry echoed through the Lifestream, transmitted forever through the swirl of souls and time. The Lifestream gave no resistance; no matter the distance Zack's voice was just as loud. Those souls who knew him—Angeal, Lazard, other soldiers, and especially Aerith—stirred at the desperation there. Souls in the Lifestream weren't supposed to be burdened with that sort of pain, the fear that was heavy in Zack's voice.

Aerith was beside him in an instant. She couldn't ignore that tone. "Zack, what's–" But she stopped short when she followed his eyes to the swirling blackness in front of them.

They were standing near an 'edge' of the Lifestream. Normally, souls couldn't reach places like this; the power of the Lifestream prevented it, in an attempt to safeguard them. However, with Aerith's help, Zack had been searching weak places in the Lifestream for quite some time. He had never said what he was looking for. There had never been the need. Aerith knew there was only one thing, one remnant of his past that could draw Zack to seek out such places. She'd never stopped him, and had even offered her help, and though he was grateful, he truly wondered why. He _was_ searching for the man who had killed her, after all. But, as if to reassure him that some things could never change, Aerith continued to listen to his tales of the Sephiroth she had never known, and said that she could forgive him, if ever he came back.

But she hadn't expected this. The swirling blackness of Jenova's taint seemed to gnaw corrosively at the whites and pale greens of the Lifestream before her, breaking it down into tiny trails of the planet's energy. The darkness continually shifted and writhed, but it maintained a fairly stable shape, only sending out tendrils and ribbons of oily blackness before they were repelled by the Lifestream's energy. But it refused to be purified all together. Distances were distorted in a world of white, but Aeirth could normally judge them. This, however, she couldn't get a sense of. Jenova's blackness could be feet wide or yards wide; she could only feel the wrongness emanating from it as she stared at the corrosive, nauseating blackness.

_This shouldn't be possible!_ her thoughts sped desperately. All taints of Jenova should have been removed from the Lifestream after the Geostigma incident, purified and healed. How could the alien creature still have a presence here? She should not be able to touch the Lifestream unless... Aerith gasped as she realized the implications, the only possible way Jenova could linger in the Lifestream. _Unless she is based in something or _someone_ who is irremovably anchored to the Lifestream!_

As soon as the though occurred to her, Zack spoke up, his eyes never leaving Jenova's taint. "I found him...He's got to be here..."

---

Genesis Rhapsodos paused at the door to the house, as he always did. He didn't know if he should be here; it almost seemed an insult to the dead. So many memories were anchored in this house, so many things he would never forget. This house had been an irrevocable part of his life for so long, but now, after so much time, he did not know if he was even welcome. After all, he had caused the deaths of both the house's inhabitants; driving Angeal mad with the truth of their past and thus prompting his mother's suicide. His best friend and the woman who had been kinder to him than his own mother.

Genesis sighed deeply. As always, no answer came to him; no permission, but no repulsion, either. So he walked in, carefully closing the door behind him. It was unlikely anyone would be looking for him and even less likely they would be watching this place, but old instincts told him it was better to be cautious. Especially when he wasn't the only one who depended on him for the foreseeable future.

In the end, he was only sure it stirred old emotions to be in Angeal's house again. Memories stirred as he walked through the familiar entryway. Chasing his best friend when they were only seven, while Gillian scolded them for running indoors. Eating homemade Banora White Apple pie and getting sticky, apple-scented jelly all over his face. Reading _Loveless_ to Gillian for the first time and asking her for help with words he was too small to pronounce or understand.

Halfway to his destination, he gave up, and turned towards the living room. Down the hall, Weiss' unconscious form would be right where he left him, Genesis knew. Lying in that room, on the bed Angeal had used when they had both been children. Genesis ran a hand through his red hair as his mind wandered through that room. Gillian had tidied things after the two of them had left for Midgar and their future as SOLDIERs, but it was still the same room. He had sat on that same bed as a six-year-old trying to hold up a too big book and read the play he loved to Angeal for the first time. He wasn't sure he could withstand the nostalgia if he went in there.

Restless, Genesis moved across the small living room, his mind wandering through a distant, happier age. He was barely aware of it as he skirted the chair where Gillian had sat knitting in the evenings. It seemed that entering SOLDIER had been the end of that long ago, idyllic time.

Genesis paused at the mantle as something caught his eyes. Surprised, he reached out and brushed years of dust away from the glass, staring into a frozen instant from yet another time in his life. Three young men stood side by side, looking back at him.

Naturally, Angeal was in the middle. The black-haired man looked relaxed and wore a gentle smile. It was his smaller, genuine smile, not the one for cameras, but the one that lit up his blue eyes and showed that he was truly enjoying the others' company. To his right, a slimmer, red-headed man had his arm thrown over Angeal's shoulders and a wide grin on his face. His smile was mostly genuine and partly exaggerated for the sake of the camera. Despite his memories, Genesis could hardly recognize himself in the wide, happy, half-exuberant smile. He never smiled like that anymore. And to Angeals left, set off slightly by the space between himself and the others, was a man with long silver hair. He faced the camera squarely, probably from force of habit, though he was leaning slightly towards his companions. Unlike the others, he wasn't smiling, only looking at the camera with a neutral expression. His aqua-green eyes seemed to glow even in the daylight.

Genesis gazed into those Mako green eyes for a long time, staring back at him from that old picture, his mind shifting from childhood memories with his best friend to the days at Shinra's SOLDIER. Finally he shook his head, sighing softly. "You knew, didn't you, Gillian? You knew we were three, rather than two."

He had to admit it to himself, in retrospect. Entering SOLDIER had not been the end of his happiness, or Angeal's. Perhaps the end of their innocent childhood, but Genesis could remember being filled with excitement and dreams upon entering that new world. Learning to fight, proving himself. No, he hadn't been unhappy. He had had fantasies. He had had a goal.

His eyes moved back to Sephiroth. He could clearly remember that day. It had been shortly after their return from the Wutai war, just when the silver-haired SOLDIER had begun to accept and even seek out their company. When Angeal had begun his tireless attempt to show Sephiroth just what friendship was. Genesis could remember himself railing on Sephiroth for not smiling during the picture. They had argued, and this one had been the only one of the three takes where there wasn't any tension between them.

Now, looking back all these years later, Genesis paused. It was certainly true, Sephiroth's expression was calm and seemingly expressionless. But there was a glimmer of something in those glowing green eyes that he had never noticed before. It was something warm and soft that Genesis hadn't seen in a long time, not for years.

Genesis blinked, distrusting what he was seeing. Then his own eyes softened and his expression turned into a rueful smile. "You were," he murmured. "Why didn't I notice?" Sephiroth's eyes were smiling, lighting up the usually cold green, showing that, like Angeal, he had been enjoying being beside the others. That is, until Genesis' thoughtless comment forced him to argue to defend himself.

Genesis let his hand fall away from the mantel as he sighed softly. Always he was led back to the same conclusion. He couldn't count how many times in his past he had thoughtlessly said something and caused pain to those around him. He had rarely opened his eyes enough to notice, and had rarely cared when he had. This was particularly true with Sephiroth, for whom he had felt awe and jealousy. But now, years later, the pain he had caused was obvious.

Feeling suddenly tired, he sat down in Gillian's chair, resting his face in his gloved hand. He had spent nearly three years in hibernation beneath Deepground. Since then, he had learned of Sephiroth's reappearance and the destruction that had followed. Jenova's corruption of his comrade had been terrible and chillingly effective, such that he could not recognize the Sephiroth he had known. He had known the creature was powerful, but that she could twist his friend into someone unrecognizable so easily shocked him. That she could even control Sephiroth had been a shock.

And now, remembering back to Nibelheim, to the harsh words he had said, Genesis couldn't help but wonder how much he had helped Jenova secure her hold on Sephiroth. In that time, he had been angry and afraid of his own degeneration, and he had again spoken words that had cut Sephiroth deeply. Perhaps, had he behaved differently...

Genesis ran his hand through his hair again, his glowing blue eyes seeking out the picture. It was useless to ponder. The events were long gone now, though sometimes he wondered if his friends could ever forgive him if they ever met again. He could not lie and say he had always meant well, but he had never meant for it to be like this.

"I had the dream again last night," Genesis told his friends quietly. He had dreamt it for the third time that night. He had rarely had recurring dreams before, and he had heard that they were usually nightmares. But this dream wasn't frightening. Instead, it left him with a feeling of energy, as if to go somewhere or do something, as well as a feeling of anger, though he could not truly remember why. He could never remember the dream completely. Instead, he recalled flashes of green and white, a sense of writhing darkness, and Angeal's presence, Angeal's voice calling to him and trying to speak to him. He would wake restless, feeling that something was left that needed to be done, that there was some presence missing in the dream that should have been there.

He had been puzzled the first time, days ago. The green and white had been familiar, but the feeling of loss, the feeling of something missing was surprising. Dreaming of Angeal usually left him either sad or nostalgically happy. Not this feeling of energy in his hands, nor this insatiable need to leave the house and walk through the fields. Immediately upon waking, he would feel as though he needed to go somewhere, knowing exatly where that was. But shortly thereafter he would lose that feeling of direction and have to wander aimlessly back to the house.

"I'm missing something, aren't I, Angeal?" Genesis asked, drawn restlessly to the mantle again. It was an old habit, long disused, but Angeal had always been wiser than he was, and better at seeing what to do. Years ago, he had often consulted Angeal on actions. Naturally, though, he found none of the answers he sought in his old friend's blue eyes as they smiled up at him from the old photo. "I'm not understanding something important, right?" There was of course no answer. He stood staring at the picture for a long time as the sun's rays strengthened through the window behind him.

Then, as Genesis' tired thoughts strayed again to his old friends, something shifted in the corner of his vision. A shadow of something that looked like feathers. As he turned to look at it, it pulled back from the path of the light, but a sudden familiar breeze ruffled his hair.

Genesis whirled, tense as he recognized a presence of someone else behind him. Lifestream energy unfolded. Green light played across his face, turning his auburn hair emerald and highlighting his wide blue eyes.

"It can't be..." he whispered.


	2. A Visitor

Vincent sat quietly, staring out at the water. The stillness of the Forgotten City hung around him, lending him its calm and peace. This place, no matter how many times he returned to it, always struck him with its almost ethereal beauty. With its glowing white trees and smooth, twisting structures, it truly was a memento from another long ago time.

And, fittingly, being here caused him to recall the past. Though forgotten by the world, this place was very important to him and those he ventured to call friends. Aerith had died here. Kadaj and his brothers had been based here during the Geostigma outbreak. The echoes of many battles lay over the still waters. But it was none of these things that he pondered as he stared at the shifting reflections before him. Instead, the tranquility and serenity around him caused his mind to move back to Lucrecia and the times the two of them had shared.

A year ago, such thoughts would have pained him deeply, reinforcing the feeling of guilt that had driven his life. However, since the fighting in Deepground, he felt an unfamiliar peace with the memories. They had come to an understanding. He was sorry, and she was sorry as well, though in his eyes the fault had always been his alone. He had forgiven her, never blamed her in the first place, and, hard as it was to believe, she had never blamed him.

And, perhaps because of that, he felt an odd sort of closure with those actions and failures that had wracked him with guilt for over 30 years. It wasn't really forgiveness; he still regretted his failure to act and stop the entire process at the beginning. The thought still caused him sadness. Rather, it was a sort of truce. He knew he had failed. He was aware, and it still caused him pain. But there were other things now, friends who had worked so hard to prove to him his own worth. So he had caved to them. His past would not haunt his every waking thought any longer. In return he would work towards avoiding such terrible mistakes in the future, and protecting the friends who had insisted he was worthy of a future at all.

Crimson eyes followed one of the fireflies as it meandered over the water, throwing reflections of its soft light against the surface. It had felt right, then, to make his peace with this place as well. Someone who had insisted he was not the monster he had thought he was had died in this place to save a planet. But she would never have wanted this to be a place of pain. He knew that for sure. This had been the city of her long dead people. It was a slightly melancholy place, to be sure, but it was also hauntingly beautiful and wonderfully peaceful. Aerith would have wanted them to be able to appreciate the Forgotten City without shadows of pain. He had come here knowing this, and wondering if he could manage to do so, for her sake if not for his own. And here he was, enjoying the peace and power of the city of the Cetra.

His eyes were closed, his head tilted slightly back when he first felt her. He felt it the moment she emerged into a form he would be able to see if he looked, a stirring in the life and rhythm of the planet itself that echoed and reverberated in his bones and even deeper, into his soul. It was the only time he had ever felt the Lifestream, but there was no doubt as to what it was.

He did not move as he heard her walk towards him, but crimson eyes flashed open. He stared out at the water through black bangs, testing his heart as his pulse jumped just slightly. Was it wise to glance at her? His heart longed to see her face, her smile, even just one more time, but was he strong enough? Or would it break him and shatter the small peace he had gained with himself? He did not want to lose that, because he knew it was that peace that made her smile, the fact that he was healing, if ever so slightly.

His moment of indecision was brief, but heavy with thoughts and questions. But then the conflict in his eyes melted away into something much softer as she came up beside him. He could see white in his peripheral vision, and it no longer was any question. "Lucrecia," he murmured. It was an instant before he finally gathered the courage to turn his head.

And there she was, looking back at him just as she had been while alive, all long brown hair and shining brown eyes. She stood looking down at him, her head cocked slightly to one side. And the smile he had so longed for lit up her face.

"Vincent," she said quietly, her smile widening as she said his name.

Vinent didn't want to look away from her. But it was a reflex that his eyes closed as her voice washed over him, much to precious to ignore. That voice which he hadn't heard except filled with pain and guilt for thirty years.

Another sound brought his eyes back to her just as fast, widened slightly with surprise. But he hadn't heard wrong. The light in her eyes confirmed it. Lucrecia had laughed. For the first time in over three decades, he had heard that sound filled with joy.

Despite it all, a slight smile broke out onto Vincent's face. The tension, his worry faded as warmth settled around the two of them.

He turned to gaze out at the water, and she did as well. The silence between them was not strained or sad as it would have been before. Instead, it was something soft, something that made the low lights and the silence the gentlest things in the world. For a long time they were still, cherishing each other's contentedness.

After a long time, however, he felt the need to break the silence. The Lifestream could not often allow visits from the dead. There were things that needed to be said, that he wanted to say to her.

Her voice broke the silence before he could, however. "It's so good to see you," she said, and he could hear her smiling. "I was worried about you."

Vincent couldn't keep a bit of sadness from ghosting across his expression. But he still smiled, and it was still genuine. "As was I, for you." He turned back towards her, his eyes searching. "Are you alright?"

Her eyes reflected the pain of their past, as did his. She turned, looking out at the water as he continued to watch her, waiting tensely for her answer.

Lucrecia sighed. "Yes. Yes, I'm alright. I feel much lighter now. I mean, I am still very sorr–"

Vincent closed his eyes. "Don't..." Though left unspoken, the word please rang in the air painfully. They had both heard that enough.

She turned back towards him, her hand over her mouth as she realized what she'd almost said. Then she smiled slightly, nodding in understanding. "Right. No more of that."

It was a statement and an apology, and it brought his eyes open again. But when he found Lucrecia still looking at him expectantly and warily, he realized that it was also a question. She wanted his promise, the same as she had given to him.

His eyes softened again. "Right," he said, looking into her green eyes as he promised it to her. Enough apologies had passed between them, more than enough for them to understand each others' remorse and guilt. There was no need to give any more. For each others' sake if not for themselves.

The sadness and worry melted away from Lucrecia's eyes and she smiled at him, almost the same smile she had given him on that day, years ago, when she had caught him asleep under the tree at the Shinra mansion. A smile from a time when there were no inner demons, no premonitions, no Jenova experiment, no Meteor. And that, more than anything, assured him that she was alright.

Silence stretched between the two of them for a while longer, not because a loss for words between them, but more because no words were necessary. But, after a time, Lucrecia's voice made him focus on her voice again.

"That isn't...the only reason I came, though."

"Mmm." He turned back towards her, to find her looking at him with a slightly hesitant expression. "I expected as much," he answered after a moment. Her uneasiness distressed him. Why did she look worried?

"She smiled at his response, but the uneasiness did not leave her eyes. "I came to ask for your help."

He gave no reply, but he watched her curiously, eyes conveying his question.

"There's something that still needs to be done," she explained. "There's someone..." He didn't like the way pain flashed through her eyes as she trailed off. "Will you...?"

Vincent stood smoothly, turning to look at Lucrecia. "Where?" he asked. As Lucrecia blinked at him, surprised, he said, "Where do we need to go?"

She gazed at him for a moment, before asking quietly, "You're willing to...even not knowing...?"

A slight smile glinted in Vincent's red eyes. "You asked me for my help, Lucrecia," he explained quietly. "Don't you already know the answer to that question?"

She looked at him for a long moment before the worry and uneasiness disappeared from her brown eyes. A genuine, relieved smile lit up her features again, pleasing him greatly. "I guess I did," she replied after a moment. She cocked her head as she looked at him. "That part of you still has not changed, Vincent."

He blinked, surprised at her statement. He had thought nothing of who he had been remained intact from that time. His world, his beliefs, his former life had been torn apart through Hojo's experimentation and his subsequent despair. And yet she said that something was left. The thought filled him with an odd sort of hope for both of their futures.

The smile actually managed to appear on his face as he looked at her. "Take me where we need to go," he said.

Lucrecia's happiness was dazzling. Her entire being seemed to light up and be filled with...something. Life, love, something vibrant and alive. He couldn't put a name to it, only that it felt right to see it there in his eyes. "Come with me, then," she said, turning towards the yellow, curling structure that stood back from the water.

Vincent followed her, his red cape standing out like a beacon against the whites and blues and greens of the city around them. The soft light managed to make even his gauntlet look gentle.

He heard it even though it was almost a whisper as Lucrecia turned to glance back at him. "Thank you."

A smile of content spread across Vincent's face as the pale glow of the trees and the fireflies reached out towards them. He stepped after her as the world turned green and white.


	3. Dreams and Nightmares

The world around him was soft, and even in dream logic Cloud knew that he was in the Lifestream. If the gentle white light that surrounded his awareness wasn't enough to make him sure, the scent of flowers and the warmth that stretched all through the area was enough to leave him without any doubt. He waited, curious about why he was here yet again, but content to stay in the warmth and life that pulsed around him.

As always, though, he didn't have to wait long. It only took a few moments before a form detached from the whiteness. Dark, spiky hair and bright blue eyes emerged and Zack stood before him. However, something was different this time. Unlike usual, Zack was missing his characteristic enormous smile.

"Zack?" His voice echoed slightly in the space between them. The fact that Zack wasn't smiling worried him.

Zack stopped, standing in front of him. He cocked his head. "Cloud." It seemed like he was about to speak...

***It was dark, frighteningly, endlessly dark.***

Cloud jerked as the world was white again. Zack was speaking now, speaking with urgency, but he couldn't make out most of the words...

***Tendrils of blackness curled around his body.***

"We need you," Zack was saying. "It's not done." His blue eyes gazed earnestly at Cloud, and they were uneasy, too, as if something was worrying him greatly...

***He was struggling, writhing against the blackness that held him, but he couldn't break free.***

"Cloud...?" Zack looked confused now, and worried for him rather than whatever it had been before. He wanted to answer, but he couldn't keep Zack's face in focus...

***Pain he didn't understand; he couldn't even tell if it was physical or mental, only that it twisted inescapably around his awareness.***

"Zack," he managed finally, trying to say that he really was trying to listen. He didn't know what was happening; why there was this other vision intruding on his thoughts...

***Anger, and buried beneath it something that was nearly as powerful and felt much like fear.***

"Cloud!" Zack's voice was dimming, as if he were drawing away. Startled, Cloud tried to hold onto the whiteness around him, but the Lifestream was suddenly slippery...

***No understanding, no explanations. Only the feeling of being crushed, mind and body, thoughts torn and scattered. Struggling with all his strength to maintain even a semblance of himself, any knowledge of who or what he was, and yet being clawed to pieces despite his attempts. And a female voice, hissing like a snake, that alternately laughed and screeched inescapably in the darkness...***

---

Cloud sat up with a start, his eyes wide. It took a moment before his surroundings solidified, a bed he was sitting on, a desk over in the corner, the top covered with pictures. After an instant, he realized that he was in his room. Slowly, he began to calm down, his hands ceasing to itch instinctively to hold his sword.

For a moment, he held himself still, breathing carefully until the desperate desire to move, to _do something_, faded away. When he no longer felt the panic, he stood and made his bed. Light was slanting in through his window; it was early in the morning, but there was no way he was going to get back to sleep after that.

A glance at the clock told him that it was nearly six in the morning. Sunrise had not been long ago. Tifa and the children were probably still asleep.

Cloud sighed softly, pacing across the room, then back to his bed. He was wide awake now, restless, and he couldn't get the dream off his mind. He hadn't dreamed so vividly of the Lifestream in a long time. Dreaming of Zack was not that odd, but actions outside his memories certainly were. The urgency in Zack's voice rang in his ears even now that he was awake. "We need you...It's not over."

After a moment, Cloud stopped and took a deep breath, forcing his thoughts to calm. If it was just a dream, so be it. Perhaps he was still too attached to the past to let it go. But if it wasn't just a dream, if "it" really wasn't over and Zack was calling to him, if Jenova or even Sephiroth had returned again, if there was some explanation of the pain and the fear and the crushing darkness he had experienced, he had to know.

He stood in front of his desk for a moment, wondering what to do. Then his blue eyes found the white and yellow flowers that sat brightly on his desk, a gift from Aerith the last time he had been at the church. Cloud grabbed a pen and a piece of paper. He would have to leave Tifa a note.

---

Even so early in the morning beams of light found their way through the hole in the roof of Aerith's church. The water sparkled in the sunlight, and the white and yellow flowers that peeked up through the floorboards around the water seemed to bask in it. It was a place of peace, a place of sanctuary and memories, and whenever Cloud dreamed of the Lifestream, he inevitably came here, to see her, to ask her why.

However, this time he couldn't find any answers. Even when he sat near where the flowers peeked carefully through the floorboards, even as he felt the aura of peace and calm wrap around him like a blanket, he couldn't find a meaning, a reason why he felt like there was somewhere to go, something to be done.

It puzzled him. Always in his mind the Lifestream was irreversibly linked to this place, the place where Aerith had tended her flowers, the place where the Lifestream had created a cure for Geostigma. If there were no answers here, then where else in the world would they be?

Finding no signs of anything different even here, he almost dismissed the dream. But a combination of the urgency in Zack's eyes and recalling the horribly suffocating, crushing weight of the darkness made him unable to cast it aside. Even if he couldn't find any proof, his heart told him that such powerful emotions in a dream could not have just come out of his head. The feelings had been real, somehow, almost tangible.

But that left him with the dilemma of where to go now. If the church didn't explain it, if the answers weren't here, then was there somewhere else that could hold the answer to him? If this wasn't the place he was being called to, then where was he to go?

He sighed, looking down at the flowers. He didn't know. He didn't know where to go; he didn't know what to do. But Zack had said he was needed. He had to find out where he was supposed to be.

Cloud looked up after a moment, out at Aerith's church. It was Zack who had called him, this time. If there were no answers for him here, in Aerith's church, would it make more sense to go to the place that enshrined Zack's memory, rather than hers?

Making up his mind, Cloud stood and walked between the lines of surviving pews, out towards his bike. At the door, he paused for a moment, glancing back at the sunlight dancing down across the water. "Wish me luck, Aerith," he said over his shoulder.

And he thought for a moment that the light brightened at the words. But that was more likely his imagination.

---

The early morning left many parts of Midgar shadowed by the upper levels, but once he got outside the city, the hills and plateaus were much brighter. Zack's sword stood on the hill over looking the city, as it always did. It was rusted and weathered, but the metal still shone despite all that. Cloud was careful approaching it, because since the Geostigma incident a bed of yellow and white flowers had spread from the sword's base, now reaching almost two feet away from it.

Cloud reached out and brushed some dirt off the blade. It wasn't really necessary, though, more of a habit. It had taken some time, but he had come to realize that he liked that the earth and the flowers were claiming the sword, making it into a natural part of the landscape. It was better that way for all involved.

After a moment, Cloud sat back with a sigh. "Zack? Are you there? I don't know where to go if not here," he said to the sky and the flowers. With a sigh, he bowed his head slightly, a little ashamed at admitting his possible defeat. "I don't know what you need me to do."

For a painful moment there was silence, and he thought that, maybe, he'd been wrong again. Then, suddenly, Zack's voice laughed in his ear, "Hey, chocobo-head, long time no see!"

Cloud whirled around, looking for him. For a moment, he didn't see anything, almost panicking. He had heard his voice; Zack _had_ to be here, or else...he really wouldn't know what to do! But then there was a swirling of green in the air in front of him and a form materialized out of the energy of the Lifestream. Cloud stood still, watching, waiting, holding his breath.

First a purple turtle-neck, then spikes of black hair, then finally bright, smiling blue eyes came into being. Then Zack was whole again, the same as before the day he had died, the same as when he had appeared to Cloud during the Geostigma incident such a short time ago. His old friend stood looking at him, and this time there was a smile on his face, though perhaps not the grin he wore so often.

For a moment, Cloud stood stunned, unable to react. Zack was _here!_ It was overwhelming; he was seeing his friend again, as if he had never died, as if none of it had happened. A soft smile slowly appeared on his face. "Zack," he murmured.

Zack had been regarding him with a gentle smile, his head cocked slightly to one side so that one rebellious strand of hair fell across his face rather than being swept back in impossible spikes like all the rest. Then, quite suddenly, his smile widened into a grin and then Cloud found himself being charged at by an unavoidable mass of black spikes.

"CLOUD!" Zack yelled as he slammed into his old friend, hugging him. A hand ruffled his hair. "You came, you figured it out. I knew you would, you little chocobo-head, but you gave me a scare there!"

Cloud laughed as he was nearly barreled over backwards. It was real, it had to be; not even insanity could have conjured up Zack this well. After a moment of just standing there, feeling Zack ruffle his hair and almost literally hang off his neck, Cloud finally remembered his dignity and gently shoved the other man back. "Zack, get off, and I told you not to play with my hair."

Zack chuckled as he stepped back. "Oh, sure. You're smiling, Cloud; that means you like it," he teased. He stood looking at his friend for a moment; he had seen him in the battle with Sephiroth half-a-year ago, but it still surprised him that Cloud was no longer the teenage kid he had grown so fond of in the years at Shinra. He kept having to remind himself; Cloud had actually been able to shove him off this time. That was weird. His little chocobo-head had grow much stronger.

The thought sobered him somewhat, as it reminded him why he had come, why he had called Cloud in the first place. _I wasn't kidding, Spiky,_ he assured his friend silently. _We need that strength you've got. We need you, or else I don't know what we're going to do._

Cloud saw the slight shift in Zack's expression, saw the seriousness flash there. "Zack, something's wrong?" he asked warily after a moment. "What is it? You called me, why?"

Zack nodded after a moment, all merriment leaving him for a moment. "Yeah. Something's wrong," he confirmed solemnly to Cloud. "We need your help, Cloud."

Cloud nodded quickly, still watching Zack. "Yes, of course, of course I'll help, but what happened?"

Zack hesitated before replying. "Nothing, yet..." The words were ominous, and Cloud didn't like the answer at all. Zack obviously saw his friend wanted a clearer explanation, and finally said, "We found Jenova in the Lifestream." A frown flitted across his face. "She should have been exterminated, purified and gone, after the Geostigma was cured, but she's still holding on. We have to finish her, once and for all."

Cloud blinked, surprise going through his eyes at the mention that _she_ wasn't finished yet. Then the blue hardened into something almost dangerous and he nodded. "Yes." There was no hesitation in his voice this time, nor in his face.

Zack nodded, a slight smile of relief lighting up his face, but something uneasy still remained there. Cloud caught it and blinked, confused. Had Zack really thought he would refuse to help? Where had that happened? How could he think something like that? It almost hurt.

Zack didn't address it. Instead, he turned away, raising a hand. As he pointed, green strands began to converge, and a portal similar to the one he had entered from began to form, a flowing circle of Lifestream energy. Zack glanced back at Cloud. "Come on," he said over his shoulder, holding out a hand.

Cloud didn't hesitate. He stepped after his old friend and grasped the offered hand, allowing Zack to bring him into the Lifestream.

* * *

It seemed an eternity since he had seen light. He didn't really even have the knowledge that such a thing existed; only a vague feeling that there was more to the world than the darkness that _was_ his world.

That wasn't an entirely true. In addition to the darkness, he had a vague sense of "himself," of his own existence, though he had trouble telling what that was and where it ended and began. He was pretty sure he could feel; at rare times he could think, but beyond that he wasn't sure. There were times when he felt as though he was a form of some sort, that he had a body, but other times he could feel nothing. And then there was the other component of his world, the overwhelming presence of _her._ She was all around him, a part of the darkness it seemed, stifling, choking, and inside him as well, whispered words he couldn't escape and shrieks that tore his mind. And pain, pain when he tried to separate "himself" from her.

And he was trying. Instinct told him that "he" was different than she was, and he wanted to know what he was, who he was. Something left him with the certainty that he had not been like this for all of his existence; that there had been a "before," a "past" that held that knowledge, and he tried to call it to his mind's eye. Slivers of things stirred as he searched, sensations, feelings, sensory information, and, every now and then, memories. They came like ghosts, brushing against him with shivers of pain and fear and pleasure, and he would reached out for them desperately, wanting to catch them and understand.

But then she would shriek and come down on him. She sank claws into his mind, into his thoughts and the images that flickered before him, rending them into painful, incoherent shreds. And as he tried to gather his wavering strength for another attempt, she would speak to him, whisper to him incessantly, in a voice that echoed around, through and past him. _You are _mine_,_ she would say, over and over, echoes upon echoes. _You are nothing beyond me. I am the most important thing in your universe. You will be a part of me forever._ At times her voice would become sweet, and she would almost sound kind, whispering promises of peace to him, but he rejected it, rejected her gilded words. Something was wrong, somehow, in these brief moments of pure gut feeling, he felt that she was wrong; he knew it, it was the _only_ thing he knew. But it was all he could do to remember that. At times she reduced him to nothing more than a few shuddering sensations of pain, a tiny ball of consciousness, locked away in the dark; everything else consumed by her.

Strangely, it was pain that always brought him back from the edge. It wasn't her pain, though, the pain of the claws in his mind, formless and placeless, yet everywhere. No, this was something different, something that he felt in a fixed existence, something he knew beyond all doubt was real. It was a part of him, meaning he was the one hurt, but it had a definite location, in the middle, wherever that was. It was white fire and red agony, and yet he also felt vaguely that it couldn't be fire, that it was necessary and always would be that it was a_ blade_ causing this.

Whenever she had bashed against him so much he nearly faltered, that concrete, physical pain was enough to jar him back. It was his, he knew that; this pain was his pain. And there was something else, some sort of value attached to this sensation that he didn't understand, but which made him cling to that pain with all the tenacity he had left. This feeling meant something; there was a memory attached to it. Of all the recollections he could almost reach, he recognized that pain and that memory most often. No matter how many times she ripped it apart, always, given enough time, it would return, with the two feelings he could pick up from it.

One was hate, bone deep and black. That one took to this world easily; it went from memory to emotion so fast he couldn't tell the difference. And when she tried to crush it, it would flare up in strength, leaving moments where he truly and deeply hated her. That is, before she smashed him to pieces and he couldn't hold onto the feeling, the understanding.

The other feeling, though, was harder to wrap his mind around. It was just as sharp, and yet softer, but painful, too. This was not the physical pain, yet it couldn't be her pain, either, because it came from another entity. When he was near this memory, he suddenly had a sense of "them," as if there was something else besides her in the world.

And that is what made her shatter him fastest and shriek the loudest. Because, once in a while, he would start to wonder tentatively if this odd inside pain really came from "them," or if it came from himself because of "them." It was odd; a tightness that he didn't understand. It was anguish and it was fear and yet there was something else as well, something he couldn't quite get a hold on, but that he knew was important. He couldn't understand why pain would come from "them" because he felt that "they" were somehow precious, important, the same as his "past." "They" and his "past" seemed even to merge at some points in his mind.

But, whatever that memory was, whatever that other feeling was, she didn't want him to have it. Just when he was closest to grasping it, she would come down on him hardest, reducing him in seconds to torn understandings and basic feelings that stung like a thousand knives. He cried out wordlessly as she crushed him, able to do nothing else. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, could do nothing but hopelessly deny the words that echoed inside and around him.

There was no way to judge the passage of time here; he didn't even have a real sense of the meaning of such a thing. But something was gradually changing, and both he and she saw it. The pain he held onto, _his_ pain, was gradually fading. He had begun to feel its presence become harder and harder to hold onto. She knew it and he felt her glee ripple through him as she smashed him again, trying to break his hold entirely. Grimly, instinctively, he struggled to force the sense of "himself" to include that pain; to make it part of "him." It hurt, fire somewhere inside "him." It almost hurt more than she did, and she shrieked and screeched and clawed through him.

And beneath it all, not even consciously, he was afraid. Because he knew even without the capacity to think that, if he lost that pain, that thing that was _his_ and let him reject her, if he lost that memory he couldn't see, he would lose all sense of himself. The sense that "he" was some entity separate from her would disappear, he would be unable to deny the words she forced into his mind, and everything he clung to and couldn't remember would be lost.

This wasn't really knowledge so much as instinctive understanding; and so it remained inside him even as she struck him down again, alongside the deep seated fear that he would lose and she would finally have him.

Rarely, when he slipped exhausted into a place even beyond knowledge and instinct, he only dreamed of some break in the darkness.


End file.
